Bobby's Burden
by Salty Q
Summary: A one-shot of Bobby's reaction to Sam's possessed body coming to visit him in "BUABS", including his reflection on the intensifying war. Rated for some language.


**Author's Note:** Hey, all! This is a first for me in two aspects. First of all it's the first one I've written in present tense and secondly, it's my first one written from Bobby's perspective. This is the moment in "Born Under A Bad Sign" when Possessed!Sam goes to see Bobby. For those of you who are following season 4, I'm sure you'll all agree with Dean. "Bobby. You're awesome." Please review! (Since it's from Bobby's brain, I know there are grammatical errors, but let's face it, that's how Bobby thinks.) A special thanks to Nevo, for giving me the idea and encouraging me to write this moment. Thanks, bud!

**Bobby's Burden**

"Hey Bobby."

His voice is sincere—_too_ sincere. I feel my eyes glide immediately over his left shoulder, searching for his ever-present, overprotective brother. Dean's not there—a fact that raises the hackles on my neck as I try to remember the last time Dean let Sammy outta his sight—especially lately.

Sam rambles an explanation concerning Dean's whereabouts and I want to believe it. Damn me, I want nothing more than for it to be true, but I can feel it. I can see it and it pulls at my very heart to admit that I'm gonna have to deal with this. I'm gonna have to hurt Sam. It'd all be simpler if I were more naïve. It'd be simpler if this demon were right about the clueless hick that he thinks I am—then I wouldn't have to handle another outrageous chapter in the Winchester Book of Life. But his eyes flicked just like they're not supposed to when you're tellin' a fellow the truth—so I know it's a lie. I know it's not Sam. And I find myself unsurprised by this fact. It's almost as if I was expecting it, which scares me a little—maybe more than a little.

Sam's body strolls in, surely figurin' he's got me fooled; and I let him. It's probably best to give him a false sense of security, even though I plan to ream his joy ridin' ass as soon as I'm able. The audacity of these assholes is more frustrating than any civilian would understand. I know, deep within my soul, that I've already tagged Sam's body as a demon, but I have to be sure. I owe the kid that much. Doing the simplest and quickest thing that will prove my suspicions accurate, I offer him a beer.

He accepts, which is another small contribution to what I already know. Sam isn't much for the booze, especially if Dean isn't around to egg it on or at least join him in a drink or two. I sidle briefly to the kitchen, opening two beers and infecting them both with a healthy dose of holy water. I know which one I'll hand him, but if the demon is clever, he might just find a way to get his hands on the one not offered to him.

There's a moment when I feel ashamed and I balk on the threshold, wondering when life came to such dire times that I feel the need to question an old friend presenting himself at my doorway.

_What if it's just Sam?_ I feel the mental scolding coming on sharply and ignore it with all I have. I have to test him and the holy water wouldn't hurt Sam anyway. I have to be sure. _What does that make you?_ The menacing voice returns, makin' me take a small step back into the kitchen. _What would John say of you testing his boy this way?_

The funny thing is that I know it's all me. Every thought that seems to come from some other source is a thought that dwells deep within my skull, forcing itself up into my full awareness and makin' me consider it. I don't want it, but I _need_ it—this feeling that makes me to do things that are considered out of line. It's part of who I am and part of the reason I'm still alive to tell about it. Does it mean I'm mistaken? Does it mean I'm being too careful? Maybe. But that's how my life goes—the life of a hunter.

I finally feel like it's safe and necessary to exit the kitchen, I offer 'Sam' his beer and do my best to remain completely neutral, although every muscle within me is tensed and anticipating the collapse of the demon possessing him.

'Sam' grins falsely and gulps at the golden liquid within the brown bottle, clearly anticipating nothing but the bite of abrasive carbonation.

As expected Sam's body shutters at the impact of the holy water as he spews forth a cloud of smoke, retching in pain and betrayal. I have to remind myself that it's not really Sam as his pleading, yet somehow demanding eyes find my face, "What'd you do?"

As I lean forth to fulfill my duty as a hunter and as a friend of the Winchester family, I feel a great sadness for the boy I know is trapped within the body. I wish I could help him—hell, I wish I could save him—but the boy just ain't meant to be saved. He's as good as damned. I know we don't say it—we're not even supposed to think it, but Dean knows it too. I've seen it in his eyes before. This is the beginning of something within Sam that will worry and haunt us until our days are over; and the way things have been lookin', that might not be too long. Something within that body is going to influence the way this war ends, and that too, is just more worry for an already worrisome soul.

As he collapses, I know there's a chance—I can feel it as surely as I feel the soft breeze trickling through my window—but it's slim. So slim that I wouldn't bet my life on the thread meant to slide through that needle head. He's got it in him—Sam does—he could save us all . . . or doom us all. And part of me doesn't care which as long as it's over soon. As exhausting as it's been lately, the war doesn't have to be won or lost, it just needs to be over. I love these boys like they're my sons, but we've become a part of something that ain't meant for human meddlin'. I'll stick with it, 'cause that's what I know how to do, but I can't deny that this old boy doesn't get much sleep at night anymore, nor do I want to.

I know it's a matter of where to toss your chips. Sometimes there's no play and you're forced to fold. Sometimes you drive the bid up until you can corner the pot. Sometimes you have to slither out with what you've managed to gain. I know the rules and I've played the game. The only difference between the game and life is that life's rules are always susceptible to change. As foolish and trusting as I may be, I know which side of the fence I'm on. It'd be convenient to be a fence rider—it'd be a lot easier on this ol' brain of mine, but I'm with the Winchesters. I know where I'm tossin' my chips and I'm hopin' to hell the rules don't change.

For a moment, as I begin to drag Sam's unconscious body towards the devil's trap, I can feel somethin' in me that's ready to give up. When I told these boys they were in the middle of a storm, I wasn't whistlin' Dixie. I meant it and it's more apparent every time I see them. They're young, but they're tired and I gotta make them think I'm stronger than I feel because they need to know I'm here and I'm ready.

Sometimes I feel like I oughta cry for it—the potential lost future—but in the end, there ain't time for cryin'; besides, I never learned how to cry. When the sun and earth melt away and there's no knowing what you'll be forced to do, be, or give up, all there's time for is fightin'. And that's one thing I know how to do; one thing I'll never stop doin'. Hell, it's the only thing I was ever any good at anyway.

That, and the idea of that yellow-eyed bastard gettin' any satisfaction from the likes of me is somethin' I won't stand for. Bring your evil armies, bring your most sinister plans, but know that you've got one old school fucker ready to fight you 'til there ain't nothin' left. I can't say as though I'll win, but I know where I've thrown in my chips, and I've always been a pretty damn good poker player.

**Author's Note:** Thanks bunches for reading, friends. I do hope you'll review because this is slightly out of my 'comfort zone'. : ) Thanks so much and thanks in advance to any anonymous reviewers, as I cannot reply to you personally. I appreciate them all! :)  
-Salty

**Note to Cerri:** You may have to wait until tomorrow for next 'Dean whompage' chapter of "Blood Brothers"—I got caught up with this one last night. -Ducks away from whichever flying object Cerri threw at me just now.- Heehee.


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